


A Form Of Flattery

by HannaM



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Slice of Life, Trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaM/pseuds/HannaM
Summary: Geralt is reluctantly dragged into some local mischief involving uprooted gardens, enthusiastic children and a troll.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	A Form Of Flattery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiodara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiodara/gifts).



While there were certainly worse things in the world than being woken by some kid with a stick yelling _“Oy! Witcher! Are you dead?”_ today was not going to make Geralt’s list of personal favorite mornings, that much was clear. 

“Stop poking me with that stick before I break it.” Geralt caught the stick mid-jab, directing a very pointed glare at the kid, who didn’t look nearly intimidated enough for his liking. “What is it? You in trouble?” 

“Kamila says you hunt monsters,” the kid said cheerfully. “You ever killed a basilisk?”

“Yes. Basilisk in the neighborhood?”

“What about a werewolf?”

“Yes.” This was not a conversation Geralt wanted to have before he’d had breakfast. “Don’t tell me you woke me up just to make me list every type of beast I’ve ever fought.”

“Not _just_ for that.” The kid pouted at him. “I have other questions! Why are you sleeping out under a tree?” 

“Inn was full up, or so I’m told.” Though clearly he should have made an effort to set up camp even further away from town. “Do you or your parents have business with me, or is hitting sleeping people with sticks your usual morning’s entertainment?”

“I don’t usually see people sleeping out in the meadows!” The kid protested.

“Not my point.” Geralt considered closing his eyes and meditating just to make said point, but since he was awake now he figured he might as well stay awake, even if only to eat, feed Roach, and ride away.

“Well, it’s not a monster _exactly…”_ That got his attention, reluctant as it was. “Somethin’s been tearin’ up Ma’s garden. And other people’s besides. Might be a monster!”

“Might be a rabbit colony,” Geralt countered. “An uprooted garden isn’t exactly the stuff of nightmares. I take payment for fighting monsters, not scavengers. Assuming getting to the bottom of this ‘mystery’ is even something I’d receive payment for.”

“Ma’s beside herself!” insisted the kid. “Says she’s terrified whatever it is’ll take our vegetables next, and then we’ll have nothing for the winter!”

Geralt frowned. “Wait, it _didn’t_ take your vegetables?” That didn’t sound like rabbits. 

“I don’t think so. You’d better ask Ma.”

Slowly, Geralt got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his trousers. “Are you sure your parents want a witcher dropping in to ask about their garden? I’m not in the mood to get chased out of town.”

“Ma said if I found a witcher she’d pay for some peace of mind,” the kid said brightly, running ahead. “Come on!”

“Hope she meant it,” Geralt muttered, following after.

Once he saw the garden, Geralt began to understand the concerns. Whole bushes had been uprooted and then dropped haphazardly any which way. There were also large, distinctive tracks in the soft earth.

_Looks like a troll. But what would a troll want with celandine, berbercane fruits and arenaria?_

Geralt paused. 

_Wait a minute…_

“Julek!” There was presumably the kid’s mother, looking harried. “Haven’t I got enough on my hands, keeping your sister out of trouble? Now you’re bringing us witchers as well? What’d you even do to get one over here?”

Geralt got to his feet, slowly. “He hit me with a stick. How could I refuse?”

The woman’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m terribly sorry, Sir Witcher! Julek! You apologize right now!”

“Sorry…” Julek mumbled, stubbing his toe in the dirt. “But you said you’d consider it, Ma!”

She sighed. “So I did. Well, Sir Witcher? Does it look like monsters, or is someone playing a trick on me?”

“Just Geralt’s fine. Don’t suppose you know any trolls, or anyone who might have angered one?” He pointed at the footprints. “Because those were either made by troll feet or someone doing their best to imitate them.”

“What? Trolls?” Her eyes went wide. 

“Seems like it. But this isn’t normal troll behavior.” Or at least, it was pointlessly odd enough to suggest a troll that had been in contact with humans. Most of the strangest trolls Geralt had observed had been trying (without much success) to imitate something they’d seen people do, like loud destructive children. Who could rip a man’s limbs off. 

“Are you going to hunt the troll?” Julek wanted to know. 

Geralt glanced at him. “Depends. Why?”

“Kamila thought you’d say there was nothing wrong.” Julek grinned triumphantly. “Now she owes me a crown!”

He’d said that name before, Geralt thought. “Who’s Kamila?”

“His sister,” said Julek’s mother. “Haven’t seen her about, have you? She missed breakfast.”

“Hm. Could be related."

The woman went white. “You don’t think… a troll’s got my Kamila?”

Julek made a face. “She hasn’t even been gone a day! She’s probably just playing her weird games in the forest again and forgot about breakfast.”

Geralt glanced at Julek. “Has anyone actually looked in the forest?”

“How many times have I told her, it’s not safe in there!” Julek’s mother suddenly turned on Geralt, a fierce look in her eye. “Bring back Kamila safe and sound and I’ll give you a proper reward, even if you don’t find out what destroyed my garden.”

That seemed easy enough at least, and though by the looks of things her ‘proper reward’ wouldn’t be much, Geralt was starting to get tired of eating dried fruit and eggs, which was what his food supply had dwindled to. “Fine.” 

But first he decided to follow the troll tracks. 

Unsurprisingly, they led Geralt through several other gardens, left in a similar state. The last garden belonged to a house that sat on the edge of the forest, and the tracks kept going. 

As he followed them, he began to hear two voices.

 _“No_ , Bobo, you can’t just eat the flowers after crushing them! We’re making potions, remember?”

“But Bobo want eat now!”

“Be patient! Do you want to be a witcher or not?”

That brought Geralt up short. 

“Bobo sorry.”

“It’s all right. Now, we’ll just put the flowers in with the ale…”

Outside a cave sat a young girl (somewhere between eight and twelve to Geralt’s eye) carefully dropping a mess of herbs into a mug of ale, while a rock troll stood over her and watched. 

“Potion?” The troll, presumably Bobo, wanted to know. 

“Yes, now it’s a potion,” the girl said confidently. “If you drink it, you’ll be ten times as strong!”

“Bobo make more strong!” The troll made a grab for the mug, but the girl grabbed it first, pulling it away fast enough that it spilled over the front of her dress.

_Huh. Decent reflexes._

“Now look what you made me do, Bobo” The girl scowled. “It’s all over me!”

“Probably just as well,” Geralt said, stepping out into the clearing. “Most witcher potions are poisonous to humans. I’d guess trolls wouldn’t digest them either, though I’ve never heard of one trying before.”

The girl went white, then red, immediately setting down the mug. “W-what are you doing here?” She glanced at Bobo, alarm setting into her features. “You’re not going to kill Bobo, are you?”

Bobo scoffed. “Bobo strong! Bobo kill human first. Bobo witcher troll!”

“Bobo, you idiot, that _is_ a witcher!” The girl hissed. 

“Oh.” Bobo didn’t look particularly alarmed by this introduction. “Hello witcher.”

Geralt held up his hands. “I’m not here to kill anyone. Seems like you two are friendly enough.”

“Yes,” the girl said, looking relieved. “It… it was just a silly game. I didn’t mean for him to make such a mess.”

“Trolls not usually known for their delicacy.” An understatement, but… “You're Kamila, right?”

Kamila went redder. “I… yes…” She tugged at her fingers, looking away. 

“Your mother’s looking for you. I’m guessing she doesn’t know you made friends with a troll.” Geralt raised his eyebrows. 

Kamila groaned. “That’s what brought you here? Oh, I could just _die…”_

Geralt considered pointing out that she’d be far worse off if he had been the type to attack a troll on sight, or how easy it would have been for someone from the village to assume that Bobo had kidnapped her with plans on making her his dinner.

But he wasn’t really in the mood to lecture, so instead he said, “Where’d you get the ale? Not the best base for a potion.”

“I told the innkeeper it was for my da.” Kamila covered her face. “It’s not that I really thought it would actually _make_ anything… anyway, I know girls can’t be witchers.” 

“No girl has survived the trials, it’s true. But..." Geralt paused. "There might've been a girl once, taught to fight like one of us."

Kamila peered over the tips of her fingers at him. “Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel less stupid?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not saying this _wasn’t_ a stupid idea. You could’ve poisoned yourself if you grabbed the wrong ingredients, and trolls aren’t the safest playmates.”

“But there is a lady witcher.” 

“Yeah.” There was something about Kamila that reminded him of Ciri. Maybe that was why he’d thought to mention her. 

_Or maybe I’m going soft in my old age._

“Troll witcher?” Bobo said hopefully.

“That I can’t help you with.”

“It’s all right, Bobo,” Kamila said, patting his huge, rock-encrusted knuckles. “You’re strong enough as you are.”

Bobo grinned; a grotesque sight. “Bobo strong!”

“We’d better go,” Geralt said, glancing at Bobo. “Without him.”

“Oh, all right.” But, though there was still redness around her ears, Kamila looked considerably more cheerful as she walked over to him. “I’ll see you later, Bobo.”

"Bobo want eat," Bobo grumbled, but ambled into his cave without any other complaints.

"He doesn't eat people," Kamila said immediately, when Geralt raised his eyebrows at her.

"See that he doesn't get into the habit."

Julek was playing in the yard when they returned, and Kamila stormed right up to him, punching him in the arm.

"Owww! What was that for?"

"You went and got Ma to hire a _witcher_ to _find_ me, shitface! When I wasn't even missing!"

Julek scowled. "Thought you'd be happy, you never shut up about witchers! Then one comes to town and you suddenly go all shy? Owww!"

"Kamila, stop hitting your brother," their mother said, emerging from the house. "Oh, witcher!"

"Geralt," Geralt corrected, without much hope.

"I owe you a reward, I think.." She began scrounging around in her pockets. Geralt was half-tempted to tell her to forget it, but then she frowned and said, "I don't have much money, but I could throw in some fresh bread and cheese."

"Done," Geralt said immediately.


End file.
